


#13

by foramomentonly



Series: Meet Ugly Drabbles and Fics [2]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, Public Hand Jobs, Smut, Teen Malex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:39:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24544753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foramomentonly/pseuds/foramomentonly
Summary: Prompt: we make contact before trying to steal the last seat on the subway/bus/train and I end up in your lap and fuck you, I’m going to stay here because I’ve had a really long day and this seat was mine
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Series: Meet Ugly Drabbles and Fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1773934
Comments: 15
Kudos: 126





	#13

_Fuck the motherfucking desert._

Alex shifts restlessly from one foot to the other, grimacing as a fat bead of sweat charts a slow, inevitable path down his spine and into the waistband of his jeans. He’s been out in the desert all day on a school trip—the class’s fifth of the semester; this time they visited a geological field study site in the desert forty-five minutes out of town. And Alex is wearing all black. And skinny jeans. And forced to spend the day _with his peers_. 

The class mills around the rest area, waiting on the bus driver to return and drive them, blissfully, home. Alex squints against the harsh, mid-afternoon sun at his teacher, clipboard in hand and preparing for his final head count of the day. Alex scowls. Every time, _every time_ he does this: calls roll alphabetically and heards each student one-by-one onto the bus; which means that nearly every field trip for the entire year Alex Manes has lost the coveted single seat to Michael _fucking_ Guerin. 

There’s one individual seat on each of the Roswell Independent School District's sorry fleet of buses. It’s in the way, way back, almost hidden from view, stuffed in the far corner of each bus’s left side, a glorious twenty inches of nothing between it and the aisle. Most other students avoid it in favor of nearly an hour of uninterrupted social time with friends and partners. Alex might, too, if Liz or Maria or even Rosa were with him. But Alex Manes is cursed with both a second-half-of-the-alphabet surname _and_ a shitty class schedule. All year he’s been stuck on a bus with Kyle Valenti, half the football team, and Guerin.

Guerin’s a cool guy. A deliberate loner, like Alex; he exists either in solitude or as an object orbiting the Evans twins, arm linked snugly with Isobel—though it doesn’t seem romantic—or body bouncing restlessly off Max—definitely not romantic. But for the past semester he’s heaved himself onto the bus and planted himself in the single seat, opening a thick, battered notebook and scribbling furiously with a worn down pencil. Alex doubts that Guerin even realizes anyone else would want that seat, which is why, this time, he has a plan. Alex is going to approach Guerin calmly, amiably, and ask that he cede the seat to Alex for the rest of the semester. And if Alex happens to be wearing his tightest jeans and the tee-shirt that went through the dryer on high and now fits snug around his biceps and broadening chest, well. In war you use every tool at your disposal. And the way Guerin’s gaze lingers on Alex’s ass as he bends over his backpack and flits from his arms to his shoulders to his pecs in gym has Alex thinking his body might be his secret weapon. He tries not to think about how Guerin’s eyes on him makes his pulse quicken and all the blood rush from his head, leaving him dizzy and, regrettably, half-hard in the hallway or the locker room.

The driver returns and their teacher begins roll as students shove the remnants of lunches into their backpacks and pull out earbuds. Alex scans the area, seeking out Guerin where he’s hunched over his notebook, curl hanging heavy over one eye. He looks up when his name is called, catches Alex’s eye and, to Alex’s surprise, shoots him a knowing grin and a wink, ambling onto the bus and heading straight for the back. Alex is briefly stunned, but he passes quickly to rage.

_Oh, game on, motherfucker._

He practically vibrates with indignation as he waits for his name to be called and, when his disinterested instructor _finally_ calls “Manes,” Alex stalks on the bus and heads straight for Guerin. When he catches sight of Alex striding single-mindedly towards him, Guerin’s eyes widen and he presses himself back against the dirty vinyl cushion, tense for a moment as though preparing to be bodily removed from his seat. Instead, Alex casually tosses his bag on the ground, spins on the balls of his feet, and drops heavily into Guerin’s lap.

“Uh, hi,” Guerin says with a laugh, arms raised in the air helplessly around Alex’s body. “Make yourself comfortable, I guess?”

Alex pulls his iPod and earbuds out of his pocket.

“Guerin,” he greets him disinterestedly, scrolling for his favorite band and turning up the volume, effectively ending the conversation before it begins. He feels rather than hears Guerin chuckle against his back, and a moment later Guerin’s hands fall lightly to Alex’s hips, fingers digging in when the bus lurches into motion and Alex bounces unexpectedly. 

Half the ride passes uneventfully. Everyone is exhausted from a full day baking in the sun, most of all the two adults forced to keep a group of bored and under-supervised teens in check for four hours; half the bus is dozing, the other half whispering and laughing quietly, heads pressed close together in their seats. No one so much as spares them a glance. Alex closes his eyes and lets his music insulate him, shivering as the cool blast of the bus’s air conditioning chills his damp skin. Guerin’s fingers on his hips ground Alex, and when they begin tapping in what he recognizes as the rhythm of the song blasting through his buds, he pulls one out of his ear, wipes it on his tee shirt, and passes it wordlessly back to Guerin, who takes it with a low murmur of thanks. Alex shifts on his lap, hoping to redistribute his weight so Guerin’s leg doesn’t fall asleep, but he freezes when he presses inadvertently on the other boy’s _very_ hard cock. Guerin groans quietly, fingers gripping Alex’s hips hard enough to bruise.

“‘m sorry,” he grunts, shifting away quickly.

“I-is that cuz of me?” Alex asks softly. He’s a teenage boy, too, he is not unfamiliar with inconvenient and completely unsolicited boners.

Guerin huffs a laugh.

“Yeah, man,” he breathes. “That’s all you.”

Alex’s eyes dart across the bus. The bench across the aisle is empty, a hand-written “Do not sit” sign taped to the backrest, and pretty much everyone in their immediate vicinity is asleep, Kyle snuffling in a way Alex remembers finding endearing as a 13 year-old. He breathes deep, presses himself closer to Guerin, and snakes his right hand behind him to cup Guerin's bulge through his jeans.

" _Fuck_ ," Guerin moans, and Alex squeezes him in warning.

"Shhh," he whispers, turning his head briefly to breathe low into his ear. "Quiet, Guerin."

The other boy settles, rolling his hips subtly into Alex's hand as he strokes Guerin's length and presses the heel of his palm roughly against the bite of his zipper. Guerin's forehead tips forward to rest against the back of Alex's neck, his breath hot on Alex's back. He slides his palms up and down the tops of Alex's thighs, slipping his fingers into a rip in the denim near Alex's knee to rub circles on his skin with the pads of his fingers.

"Don't stop," he pleads softly, and in response Alex works the button and zipper of his jeans open, wrapping his fingers around the silky, hot skin of his cock.

"Commando?" he huffs in surprise, voice rough with his own arousal, and he feels Guerin shrug helplessly.

Their bodies find a shared rhythm, Alex’s wrist pumping in time with the fluid roll of Guerin’s hips. It's quick and quiet and so insanely hot. Alex squeezes the head of Guerin's cock between his fingers, rolling it firmly in his palm and spreading the pre-cum leaking from the tip. Guerin gasps and scratches blunt nails up Alex's thighs, and Alex does it again, drunk on the heady power of being desired, of playing Guerin's body like an instrument he's mastered on instinct alone. Methodically he scans the bodies at rest around him, on guard for an intrusive eye; Guerin, meanwhile, is oblivious, soft whimpers escaping his lips and palms roaming Alex's chest and arms, fingers curling around his biceps as Alex works him steadily faster.

“Alex, _Alex_ ,” Guerin hisses, grip tightening on Alex’s arms, and Alex knows he’s close by the need in his voice, the squeeze of his hands, and the way his cock weeps, liquid tacky between Alex’s fingers.

Beneath his haze of desire, Alex is suddenly hit with the very real logistical concerns of giving a hand job to completion in the back of a school bus, and he makes a split-second decision. He twists off Guerin’s lap to kneel in front of him, encouraging him to slide forward with strong hands on Guerin's hips, and takes him deep into his mouth all at once, curling his tongue around the shaft of Guerin's cock and sucking hard and fast. Guerin's fingers are in his hair, scratching and squeezing the back of his neck, and he manages to come silently in Alex's mouth, a choked off moan all that escapes his lips. The taste and feel of Guerin's cum in his mouth is an entirely new sensation, and Alex swallows with a giddy sense of pride, the salty aftertaste heavy on his tongue.

Guerin's insistent fingers under his chin guide his gaze upward, and Alex tilts his head back to smile at him, biting his lip at Guerin's dazed expression as Alex fastens the other boy’s jeans. His gaze flits past Guerin and out the rear windows of the bus, and Alex’s heart seizes when he sees the “Thanks for visiting Roswell!” sign in the distance. They’re ten minutes from the school. He panics, using Guerin’s thighs for leverage as his pushes himself to his feet and flings himself across the aisle, perching on the end of the “Do Not Sit” bench. He glances over to Guerin, who looks at him with wide, pleading eyes, gaze traveling pointedly down to where Alex is still hard in his jeans. He licks his lips, eyes stuck on the outline of Alex’s cock against his thigh. Alex shakes his head, grabbing his backpack from the floor and dropping it on top of his lap. Guerin whines.

“All right, people,” their instructor calls, and Guerin jumps in surprise. “We’re unloading at the back of the school. If your parents are picking you up…”

Alex lets the bustle of students waking, calling out to friends, and collecting their belongings drown out the teacher’s droning. He dips in and out of different conversations, listening for a hint that they were overheard or even suspected. But most of his classmates are chatting about after-school and weekend plans, the football guys ribbing Kyle about having dinner with Liz’s dad on Friday. Alex lets out a breath, shoulders relaxing, and turns to find Guerin staring at him, a small, private smile on his lips.

“Can I help you?” Alex asks, his voice light with amusement.

“I think you just did,” Guerin murmurs, and Alex grins wickedly. “What are you doing after this?”

“I have a shift at the museum.”

Guerin’s face falls.

“You know,” Alex offers, “it’s pretty slow on weekdays. Especially outside of tourist season. Practically no one’s around.”

“Really?” Guerin drawls. “Cuz I’ve always wanted to visit the museum.”

“You should stop by,” Alex says, biting his lip to suppress a giddy grin. “You know, while there aren’t any crowds.”

“Yeah, think I will,” Guerin replies. “I don’t really like people.”

Alex grins.

“I noticed,” he deadpans. “I don’t, either.” 

“Just a few,” Guerin adds softly.

“Yeah,” Alex agrees. “One or two.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Fleetwood Mac Ain’t Got Nothing On Us](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25853572) by [christchex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/christchex/pseuds/christchex)




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